My husband went outside to light the grill while I jumped in the car to go get the food. I had planned to run into the supermarket, get the chicken, and then go right back home. But when I got inside, I realized I needed a bunch of other things. Half an hour later, I checked out with all my groceries and went home.

Without the chicken.

“Ugh I never bought the chicken!” I groaned as I finished unpacking the bags. I scanned my receipt. No chicken.

“What are you going to do?” my husband asked.

“Go back and get the chicken.”

I got back in the car and returned to the supermarket, purchased the chicken, and went home.

Without the chicken.

“Oh my god! I did it again,” I sighed. “This time I remembered to buy the chicken, but I must have left it in the bag at checkout.”

“What are you going to do?” he asked again.

“Go back and pick up my chicken!”

I really couldn’t believe I had forgotten the chicken twice. I wasn’t usually that forgetful. Yes, I did forget to pick up my luggage at baggage claim once. And I also forgot to pick up my daughter from school once. And I did leave my son at Target that one time. So maybe I was a little forgetful. But based on this track record, I’d probably forget that I was forgetful so I didn’t really have to worry that it might be a problem.

Cursing all the way to my car, I went back to the supermarket to get another chicken. I showed them my receipt and explained the situation, and they let me pick another one. Then I threw it in my cart, and went home.

Without the chicken.

“Where’s the chicken,” asked my husband as I walked in the door utterly chicken-less.

I looked down at my empty hands and slapped my forehead.

“I can’t even believe it,” I replied. “I think I left it in the shopping cart.”

“Honey, do you have memory issues?”

“No. but apparently, I have poultry issues.”

At this point, I wondered if I should change our dinner plan. But I had already bought all the stuff to go with the chicken, and everyone was looking forward to it, so I decided I would give it one more shot. I got in the car one last time and went off, again, to the supermarket. When I got home, I held up a supermarket bag in triumph.

“Did you get the chicken,” my husband asked tentatively when I walked in the door.

“No,” I declared. “I decided we should have steak instead.”

“Why?”

“They were out of chicken.”

-- For more Lost in Suburbia, follow Tracy on Facebook at facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage or on Twitter at @TracyBeckerman.